


I See Colors When You're Near Me

by FrickinFabFutureFangirl



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Flowery Language & Color Symbolism, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, It's dark right now but it'll be better later, Minor Character Death, it's implied but not explicit, vague mentions of rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:59:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22307563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrickinFabFutureFangirl/pseuds/FrickinFabFutureFangirl
Summary: Grantaire's breaking and healing, featuring Eponine, Cosette, and eventually Enjolras and Les Amis. Also lots and lots of flowery language, run-on sentences, and color symbolism.
Relationships: Cosette Fauchelevent & Éponine Thénardier, Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	I See Colors When You're Near Me

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted some writing practice with color symbolism so I did this, let's see how it turns out!

He was red, bright rebellion, the blood of revolutionaries weaving a coat of silken willpower, always behind him. He was golden hair, spun sunlight, bright, blinding almost, comparable to a god. He was blue eyes, piercing through your soul, like ice, cold, calculating, dangerous. He was beautiful, breaking walls, literally and figuratively, building a world where the broken, the oppressed, the _abaissé_ could thrive. He brought chaos behind him, dethroning kings, destroying oppressors, changing the world as was destined in the stars upon his birth. He was born into the time of the revolutionaries, with the sun shining onto the constellations, light reflecting off the water bearer, choosing him to join them. He was like beautiful light, glowing, extending in every direction, bright, and powerful. They called him Enjolras, and thought he could never be tainted. And yet, he had a shadow. 

His shadow, it was small, it was dark, and it was weak for him. It followed wherever he went, existing off his beautiful words and the poison in the bottle. The shadow was inebriated by bad wine and beautiful ideas. He was an artist, a broken soul, cracked and bleeding, waiting for a chance to be whole again. His name was Grantaire, and he had been wronged by the world, wronged until it was hard for him to believe that life was worth anything at all.

For a long time, Grantaire had simply drifted from place to place, lonely and lost, waiting for a light. For what seemed like forever, he was alone, a little blotch of green and brown, drowning in self-destruction and paint. He was a painter before he was broken, yes, a young painter, barely ten and seven, talented and lovely, filled with wit and laughter, and love, so much love that he could hardly contain it in his heart. It would spill out of his hands, onto canvas, consuming white with colors. Beautiful, bright blues, vibrant hues were always painted across his hands, his face, his soul. He loved, he loved so much, and so many, and he never would've stopped, had he not loved the wrong person. Grantaire was one of the few brave, or perhaps, foolish enough to love anyone without fear of punishment. He was young and naive, and he thought he was invincible. 

He met someone, a beautiful someone, a perfect, wonderful someone, and he loved them, god, he loved them. They were neither man nor woman, light nor dark, moon nor sun. They were spun from stars, odd, strange, wonderful and perfect. They were his reason, his life, they brought him meaning and he brought them colors. They were reflected off canvas, anywhere, any time, Grantaire would adore them enough to create something, a beautiful reflection of how they were to him. They were happy, the two of them, happy to live, happy to love, spending every waking moment with each other, and a few while they slept. Until they couldn't. 

Grantaire had them taken from him, ripped away, out of his grasp. They were his angel, and he had to watch as their wings were ripped from their back, bone and sinew snapping away from their body as blood-soaked feathers fell to the floor. They were tied, bound, rope rubbing against where their wings once were, bound to something no soul could bear, the weight of the world around them, and dropped, simply dropped, into the river beneath them. He watched, and screamed, and struggled as the wretched hands of those around him threw his angel down from heaven, falling away, falling forever, never to be found again. He saw them fall, bleeding, broken, torn to bits, splashing down into the water, looking up at him with more fear in their shining, glassy, beautiful eyes than he ever thought could be possible. And then it was his turn.

The wretched turned upon him, tongues lashing, hands wrapped around his throat, his arms. They pulled at his shoulder blades, looking for wings to saw off, they cut at his head, tainting the dark curls with red. They filled him with colors, dull purples, violent reds, pale greys. They took him to the side, pulled him apart, forced him back together, and repeated the process. They shattered him and left him broken, bleeding, streaked with bright reds, grey purples, clear blues, and sickening white. And then they left. 

Grantaire didn't move for a long time. They had taken his colors and left him with theirs. Eventually, slowly, he found his feet and climbed up onto stone, overlooking the beautiful dark, deep, cold, blue that had taken everything from him. 

And 

Then

He

_Fell_.

He was found on a shore later, found by a girl not older than him. She didn't understand how life still ran through his veins, nor did he, but it did. She helped him onto his feet, all but carrying him with her as they found shelter. It was rickety and leaky, but it was a roof and it had a hearth, which she deposited him in front of instantly. She draped a blanket around his shoulders and started trying to rub feeling back into him. Another soon entered, another young girl, painted in gold and pale rose, who smiled at him and dropped wood into the hearth, slowly illuminating the room and warming him. He felt none of it.

The girls whispered to each other in soft tones, the pale colors swirling around their words of concern. Gentle but strong blues wrapping around delicate blush, swaying the conversation in one direction or another. Grantaire saw these colors, but muted, dulled, nothing like they were before. The pink dropped to the floor, eye level with him and murmured something to him. He looked up at her for the first time, meeting the brown in her eyes with his own. She was delicate, pale and pink and gold and soft, so soft and blurry around the edges. Her colors were tainted, like his, streaked with others than her own, muddy greys. However, the grey was fading, giving way to the pinks once again. He looked back down at the floor, avoiding her eyes. She saw his colors, and he knew it. She saw how it was almost all blacks and greys and this disgusting white, all obscuring the beautiful greens that once stood there. She inspected him gently, watching his colors swirl and settle, adjusting to his placement on the floor, knowing what they meant. He looked at her, and she smiled, meeting his eyes. She held out her arms, and he collapsed into them. 

Slowly, a little green seeped back into his colors.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a kudos if you liked it if you like, leave a comment please, I live off validation! Thanks for reading, bye!


End file.
